“My Lord,—May I request that your lordship will be pleased to appoint the bearer of this to a ship, as soon as convenient, as I wish him to be actively employed.
“I am, my lord, etcetera, etc.”
“Why not mention your name?”
“It is of no consequence,” replied I, “as it will be delivered in person, and that will insure my speedy appointment.”
The letter was placed before his lordship for signature. It was with some difficulty that he was made to understand that he was to sign it. The old gentleman appeared much more imbecile than when I last saw him. I thanked him, folded up the letter, and put it in my pocket. At last, he looked at me, and a sudden flash of recollection appeared to come across his mind.
“Well, child—so you escaped from the French prison—heh! and how’s your friend—what is his name, heh?”
“O’Brien, my lord.”
“O’Brien!” cried my uncle, “he is your friend; then, sir, I presume it is you am indebted for all the inquiries and reports which are so industriously circulated in Ireland—the tampering with my servants—and other impertinences?”
I did not choose to deny the truth, although I was a little fluttered by the sudden manner in which it came to light. I replied, “I never tamper with any people’s servants, sir.”
“No,” said he, “but you employ others so to do. I discovered the whole of your proceedings, after the scoundrel left for England.”
“If you apply the word scoundrel to Captain O’Brien, sir, in his name I contradict it.”